


White Boomerang

by rainygalaxynerd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Life, Crack, Ficlet, Gen, Laundry day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainygalaxynerd/pseuds/rainygalaxynerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laundry day at the bunker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Boomerang

Laundry day. Somehow Dean always ended up needing fresh parts for baby, or he decided that they would probably drink ten beers that night and need more; he should definitely go on a supply run, oh yes. Or there was a low key case that he might as well check out, while Sam did research in between shoveling dirty laundry into the machine and hanging the wet clothes up to dry. Dean usually ended up being “delayed” until the clothes had dried and Sam had folded it into neat stacks. 

It was funny how they had managed to get by with just one set of spare clothes for all those years on the road - and now they seemed to have something for every day of the week. On laundry day, Sam felt it was more like something for every day of the month.

Sam cursed under his breath. This time Dean hadn’t even bothered to pick up his laundry in a basket before pretending to be on an important errand far away. Of course Dean was a fairly tidy person most of the time and it wasn’t as if his clothes were spread everywhere. Just the odd T-shirt shed in the night when he got too warm, and a couple of mismatched socks. Sam bent down to check under the bed. 

He saw something white, stiff, shaped like a boomerang. He carefully drew it out to get a better look, holding the thing between his thumb and index finger. As the light caught the nike logo, Sam realized what he was holding. He let out a squeak and threw the once-upon-a-sock across the room.

Dean was happily eating a nice greasy burger with double cheese and bacon when his phone started ringing. He checked the caller ID and Sam’s name lit up on the screen. He gently slid the phone back into his pocket and took another bite. When the phone kept going off repeatedly, he muted it.

Dean was fairly drunk when he made it home at 2am. He knew Sam would pull up his award-winning bitch face but he figured he could mollify him with the amount of money he had managed to hustle from rich, but sadly poor pool players that night. Only when he entered the bunker, Sam threw something hard and white at him. Dean caught it deftly.

“Hey Sammy. Since when do we play catch in the war room?” He asked jokingly. He idly wondered why Sam was wearing gloves.  
“Since you put me in charge of the laundry for the very last time,” Sam said, glaring at Dean. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Dean looked down at what he was holding in his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you my dear husband for inspiring this thing with your statement:**   
>  _“It’s not really a wanking sock until it’s completely stiff and shaped like a boomerang.”_


End file.
